CMP Sonnet #1

To CMP not eat ... that is the question
That bethought once is put and laid to rest
Of all the Godly food for our ingestion
The CMP's by far amongst the best

These best that silky fried in lard pierogi
And third, the fattened blimped out submarine
Which we, elite, have named to be our hoagie
Unknown to folk in metropol'tan cuisine

Some say the best be made by some Schutawie
In Shendo low midst hills of slate and coal
But devour'd once whereat the place where are we
Remembered Jimmy's Inn has filled the role

Then is it not a shame and venial sin?
To not partake the food of place you're in?

HotDog Sonnet #2

No better meal sent down by our good God
Than entree'd Coney Island styl'd Dog
Bland grits eschew, no smelly Boston cod
But onion'd pork and beef to arteries clog

The quibbl'r might ask, "Is it good for you?"
That Morsel, neat shaped to nimble sausage form?
Eftsoons! the mutt'rd utt'rance meets no Review,
Where 'plained most 'mongst the sadly uninformed

Finished. Topped; At last by luscious CMP
With lightly salted peanuts strewn therein
Dark syrup, marshmallow'd vanilla floating free
Atop -- the cherry blush's as if in sin

Then tell me if it be indulgence, do
As past repasts this feast recur to you